


Something dark twists and wriggles in my mind.

by KingFranPetty



Series: Kablooie and Phooey in Non Canon! [18]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Additional Warnings Apply, Child Abuse, Creepy, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Evil, Evil Plans, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Grooming, Gross, Harm to Children, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Lies, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Other, Pedophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Suggestive Themes, Twisted, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Verbal Abuse, Villains, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingFranPetty/pseuds/KingFranPetty
Summary: I feel a strange and inky drawn. It draws me in with it's oil deadly tar. My mind whispers a new horror I want to close my ears off to. But I don't close my ears, I'd rather bleed myself to your eyes. Love me for I hurt myself for you.
Series: Kablooie and Phooey in Non Canon! [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776496
Comments: 2





	1. Chapter 1

People love me for my work. They love me if I bleed for my words or if I merely spill ink. They enjoy it all the same. Yet I find they swam in if I add sex to the lure and hook. People will love me if I rip open my guts and expose the workings to all. Some points I think they love me more if I do. Yet if I could be salted for such gazing within myself to be so shallow in it's false depth.

So much more my loyalty eyes view me as so much. My words seem wordy in their loops, basically circling. Love me for I give to you, I give to you my hurt and nothing at all. So here's sludge and trash, nothing at all of value. At least to my eyes and likely those who see only fake depth.

So now begin.

Phooey Duck sat at a big, red, chair. This was exactly what he expected to happen. He feared this event, not because it came from nowhere but because he saw it coming for a long time. A shadow engulfed his form, a shadow like death loomed. He gripped the arms of the chair in fear as the shadow looming in closer. Phooey looked up, seeing into those eyes. The eyes leered as if they belonged to a predator. Which they most certainly did. The eyes glazed over like the body as mere meat. The predator opened his maw, spilling out words polite in strange cheer, "Hello Phooey."

The predator of death reached to his prey and grabbed. The vulture grinned wickedly and darkly, chuckling in dark delight, "I've missed you, Phooey." It was strange how the monster that demanded order so he could order the world, would so want the embodiment of Paradox and chaos. Yet, what would be the most fitting symbol of such a monster than to wish to chain discord to his robotic walk.

The Vulture ran down his hands down, down, then rubbing with that sickening smile. "I love you." The business man spoke, growing red and sweaty and disgusting, "I only want what's best for you." Tears rolled down from electricity yellow eyes. Sobbing too hard to speak. All too scared to fight, already convinced that escape was impossible. More impossible than his paradoxes of nature. The void unfolded in full for only one light of hope to stand in the nothing, that hope snuffed out in the hold of a villain. The grey on gray villain got to his knees before his capture and insisted, "I love you." A beak met a bill to silent the crying. Know in this ink illusion as electronic, none of these gestures meant any love. He was a monster and monsters akin himself couldn't love truly. He might think this is love but he is lying to himself.

A hand took away from the place between the hips and came to a belt. The belt undid and allowed the pants to slip off. This horror is the ink and sludge and tar I spoke of. The Error felt himself dead to the stabbing of a twisted man that required the world be set straight. Not to say that the stabbing did not pool blood from a duckling previously unknowing to these horrors. The pain hurt. The blood bled. Still the scene was distant to the victim as if watching from another place. To the innocent from this distant place, he knew that this scenario would play again again again and again. The Buzzard nearly choked on his words but the world gave no such kindness, "I'll make you enjoy this, you deserve it." Said as tears didn't weep but something else did. Hands returned to the hips, rubbing until corkscrew stood. This place he would enjoy more than the stabbing, one might be surprised to learn so. A tongue silvery licked the rim of the beak.

The beak opened up, placing itself around a corkscrew. The beak was so long and the corkscrew so short that despite efforts, it couldn't hit the throat. The hands found their purpose done, so touched all over the small body. The hands touched gently as if to lie when the tongue couldn't. The tongue lapped as if in desperate need, but it was lapping at a corkscrew. The suit and tie looked up, needing to see his hostage loved him back. The eyes did see this for they lied to themselves. The lies comforted so the old man that he almost weep from not his eyes again. This made him want to feel an overwhelming overflow from his victim to display physically what lies told to self. That overflow didn't happen, instead it was barely anything that went down.

The adult joyed to the boy, "I'm so proud of you. I love you. You are so very special to me. Uncle Bradford is so very proud of his big boy." All as if it was more than true but felt in his heart of hearts. It was a lie. A lie showed as the little boy sobbed for the pain to end even if he must die. A pleading for death to wash away what he thought stained his very soul.


	2. Chapter 2

I ask not that you mistake the only victim is Phooey Duck. He is only one of three. Here I display another victim.

Kablooie Duck glared with hate as he struggled against his restraints. The air was cold. The metal restraints even colder, like ice. With each and every attempt to free himself, the power of flame eternal dimmed a little bit. Still the firey duckling refused to be a victim or at the very least not fight back. His breathes were burning and came out like smoke. None of those gestures meant anything to his abuser. The shadow of death loomed over him with dark delight. The vulture was almost sugary as he brought the muzzle, sing song in tone, "Oh it's a wonderful thing to be in yours."

The muzzle muzzled the carnivorous maw. The Buzzard smiled sweet as two hands pinched the cheeks and his voice laughed, "You are a little fighter, aren't you?" The preteen boy made muffled noise of rage. This rage only seemed to set off further the monster. The predator blushed as he cheered, "I really do love the fighters." The prey snarled up a growl, his eyes atomic flames.

The old man went to sit upon the lap to get kicked off despite the restraints. The adult backed away from the clawed, webbed, feet. He swooned in a whirl, "I wish I could unlock these things and let you have your way with me." The suited vulture shaked off this idea and scoffed off the idea, "You aren't ready. You would sooner kill me." The victim was burning his glare into his very soul. The monster set his legs wide and managed to sit on the lap without being clawed. There was an up and down moment.

A moan like stretch of words rang, "Oh God, I can picture it now. You on top of me and pounding me into nothing." The hands moved to the back and the back of the head. The bouncing continued, rubbing against the hips. The duckling struggled against but found his efforts fruitless if not feeding into it. The balding man huffed out, "I can imagine it, you come in and hold me down. I can't fight back and you know it. Can't you?" Ever the antagonistic one, the spitfire refused the idea by hitting his head against the chest as hard as he could. This left the suit and tie on the floor, coughing.

The fire heated up, yet he knew the fight was fading. The cold would slowly by slowly leave him too weak. Still as long as he had fight, he could fight back. The shadowy man stood back up, that same grin still on his beak. He fell to his knees before his capture and placed his hands between the legs. His voice still that falsehood of nice, "Oh I can feel it, you'll be a big, strong, man and you'll make me all yours."

The hostage fought back harder and wildly and even harder. He fought and fought, unable to even lay a scratch, soon finding himself unable to fight. It was the cold, draining his heat. The flare was weak, only a flicker. This delighted his capturer, the predator lit up, "Awwww, wore yourself out? Let me help." Kablooie breathed hard, watching as the corkscrew stood up from friction. The follower got on, restarting his up and down movement.

"I can imagine it. You get on top of me, you hold me down, I can't fight you, you'll have your way with me again and again and again." The kidnapper gushed at the idea, "And I know you'll do it because you will want revenge." The corpus eater hugged close, finishing but not stopping. The up and down motion got faster. The vulture pleaded, "Fill me. Fill me, I'll undo the restraints. I promise I will, just fill me until I can't take it anymore." The promise wasn't fulfilled as the old man ran out of energy before he could get his goal.

All the same, the bomb sat burning in cold on the inside with only the thought of revenge to warm him.


End file.
